14. New Beginnings
14
NEW BEGINNINGS
SAYAH
T he blue-eyed man revisited my dreams.
As I lay in bed staring at my ceiling, I try to grasp at the dream like smoke that’s fading away from me.
All I can remember is that he’d been at that lakehouse and those flames, which frustrates me. I feel like whatever it is, it’s trying to tell me something.
This is starting to get weird.
Taking a deep breath and letting it go, I rise out of bed and get dressed, grabbing my phone from the bedside table on my way out.
There’s already a message from Dom.
Who is the guy, and what planet is he from?
Thoughts of Dominic pull my thoughts away from my nighttime mystery man.
Good morning, beautiful. Text when you awake so we can plan our date.=)
As I descend the stairs, I smile at the message.
Good morning.
Wondering what our date will be like, I amble toward the kitchen to make myself some coffee.
My phone buzzes.
Hoping you slept well. What do you like to eat?
I like all the food. What do you like?
I like all the food as well. What are some places up your way?
There is a great Mexican place in Fort Collins that has the best surf and turf. Wanna go there?
As I wait for him to respond, I make a cup of coffee and head into the living room.
Sounds excellent. I’ll pick you up at 7.
You don’t have to come up here to get me. I can meet you there.
I really don’t mind. It is my pleasure. I’m kinda old school. Just shoot me your address, and I’ll be there at 7 sharp.
Even though I have very real and scary good feelings about Dominic from last night, I’m still leery about sending strangers my address. I’m very protective of my child, and it’s his home I’m guarding. But I have guns and alarms and can hold my own should he try anything shady.
Something inside me tells me it’s all right for Dominic to know where I live.
I send my address and begin my chores for the day.
Around six, I shower and prepare for the date, choosing a lower-cut dress with flowers.
At 6:55 PM, the doorbell rings .
I spritz myself with perfume once more and bound down the stairs.
He’s there with lilies—my favorite flower—when I open the door. His chest hair and tattoos can be seen through the top two undone buttons on his white shirt. He has on black slacks and shiny shoes and looks fantastic. His scent stirs on the breeze; pine needles and rich soil, like walking through a forest at midnight.
“Hey,” I say, a little breathless from the stairs, or maybe it’s him.
“Hello, beautiful. You look amazing. These are for you,” he says, extending the flowers to me.
“Thank you. Lilies are my favorite.”
“I was hoping they were. And this is for your child.” He presents a candy bar on the other hand.
“Awe.” I gasp, taking the chocolate bar from him. “You are so sweet, thank you. He loves chocolate almost as much as I do.”
Dominic grins and shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“Would you like to come in a minute while I put these flowers in water?”
“Sure,” he says, stepping inside. His eyes dart around, taking in the scenery.
My house is medium-sized in the suburbs with tall ceilings and large windows. The stairs leading up are right by the front door, in the living room, and the kitchen and dining room are at the back of the house. All over the walls are pictures of Gauge and me; not an inch of wall space is wasted. I’ve considered redecorating and taking down old pictures, for many of the frames are from my marriage. The pictures just changed.
“Your home is lovely,” he says, walking me to the kitchen through an arched doorway.
Intermingled throughout the house among the trinkets and pictures are plants. They’re everywhere, it’s a chore to water them all weekly.
“Thank you. It’s not much, but it’s our home.”
“It’s lovely,” he says again, looking at a picture on the wall. “Your son looks like you. What’s his name? ”
“His name is Gauge. You think he looks like me?” I ask as I fill a vase with water. “A lot of people say he looks like his dad.”
“I have never met the man, so I wouldn’t know, but he looks like his mama,” he says, inspecting the picture closely, then turning to me. “The eyes. Almond-shaped like yours.”
“Yeah, except his are brown. They were blue when he was a baby but turned brown early on.”
“Brown is a nice color,” he states as Nox comes barreling out his cat door to the basement, stopping in his tracks and hissing at Dom.
“Nox!” I scold, turning the water off.
Nox runs off, the sound of the cat door swinging in the hallway.
“It’s all right,” Dom says casually, leaning on the bar-height kitchen table. “Pets sometimes don’t like new people.”
Setting the vase of flowers on the tabletop, I say, “He’s normally very sweet. So sorry he did that.”
“I’m not worried about it,” he says as I lead him into the living room.
“Okay,” I say, wiggling into my light winter coat and collecting my purse from the banister at the foot of the stairs.
“Ready?” he asks, his dark lashes sweeping down my body as he checks me out.
“Ready,” I say with a smirk as he leads outside.
His hand is strong and comforting against the small of my back as he whisks me to the passenger side of the sleek-looking black Mercedes in my driveway. He pulls open the door for me and waits until I’m all the way in before securing the door closed.
New car scents tickle my senses as the cool leather of the tan seats greets any bare flesh that touches it. I sit in the seat, stowing my purse below me, and fasten the seatbelt around my lap.
“So,” he says as he clamors in, pressing the glowing button that ignites the engine, “which way? I followed GPS to get here. I need you to get me to the restaurant.”
“Sure, just go that way until the stop sign and then take a left.”
He does as I say, pulling his seatbelt on as he backs down the driveway.
Billie Holiday serenades us from the stereo. He flicks the music down by a button on the steering wheel.
“So, you’re a witch?” he asks nonchalantly.
“What?” I ask incredulously, the flush to my cheeks making it hot in the car. “Go straight at the stop sign.”
He passed right by my spell cabinet. And the altar by the window.
“It’s okay. I don’t judge.”
“Well,” I say hesitantly.
It’s hard to talk about this with people who don’t know me. I watch as the car’s headlights illuminate the fields of corn and sod farms that pepper Highway One, searching the amber waves for words to say. Highway One is the back country road that connects the big city of Fort Collins to the small farm town of Wellington.
“I saw your cabinet,” his voice severs the silence. “And some other things.”
“Oh,” I say, the words and explanations all lost on me like the shadows that scamper back into the darkness as the light from the car shines on them.
“It’s all right. My sister is Wiccan. She practices magick. I’ve known a few other witches in my day as well.”
“I haven’t been practicing for long. I’m still learning.”
“Oh, yeah? Who’s teaching you?”
“Myself. My mom and grandma were witches, too, but I didn’t learn much from them when they were alive. So, I’m reading the books they left behind.”
“Books? Like grimoires?”
“Yes, exactly. Not too many people these days know what a grimoire is.”
“Like I said, witches in the family,” he says, and his lip quirks upward in the corner as he looks at me. “So, tell me about your witchy ways? That intrigues me.”
“Does it?” I tilt my head, eyes grazing sideways to meet his.
A subtle pallor washes over me, my skin reacting to how I intrigue him. His gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, yet the curiosity that emanates is palpable, seeping from his eyes and enveloping me. It’s like the interest is a tangible force dissolving into my being.
“Not much to tell yet,” I utter, almost embarrassed. “I just do random spells here and there. I believe in the goddess as much as the god, and I believe in karma; you get back what you put into the universe. I don’t believe in hurting anyone.”
“I feel that. What kind of spells?”
“Um, I do spells for luck, healing, and prosperity. That sort of thing.”
“And does it work?”
“So far, I think so. It’s nothing immediate, but I feel that it helps. Lately, I’ve been doing spells to help my parents into the afterlife and for my heart to heal eventually.”
“Do you feel any better? Your heart anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” I answer honestly. I’m not aware if the magick is helping anything except the strange dreams I’ve been having.
“Well, I’m a believer in magick. I say you keep doing it until your heart feels better.”
I smile at him. “I hope so.”
We switch to small talk for the rest of the drive.
When we arrive, he runs to my side of the car again and opens the door for me.
“Such a gentleman,” I say as I take his hand to help me out.
“I try to be the exception. It’s insane to me how men treat ladies these days.”
“I know, right? I find it hard to believe men like you still exist.”
“Such a shame, really,” he responds, holding my hand to the door, where he opens it for me.
I nod in thanks and walk in.
“Hi, welcome to Blue Agave,” the blonde hostess addresses us as we enter. “Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes, under Sangravelli,” Dominic replies nicely.
Dominic Sangravelli. Has a nice ring to it.
“Right this way, Mr. Sangravelli.” The young hostess leads us to a table in the back .
The restaurant’s ambiance is dark and quiet; all the tables are adorned with candlelit vases that sit on tables clad in white linen. Scents of carne asada and the sounds of fajitas sizzling make my stomach grumble.
When we arrive at our table, Dominic holds the chair out for me. I nod, sit, and slip out of my coat.
As he sits across from me, our waitress takes our drink orders.
“I’ll take a bourbon on the rocks, top shelf. And she’ll take a virgin daiquiri.”
The waitress smiles and is on her way to fetch them.
“So, my sexy witchy lady, tell me all about you.”
“What would you like to know?”
“I want to know it all.” He grins. His stormy eyes are dark green with flecks of Baltic amber. They are on me, and I feel that pull again like I’m being drawn into his force field.
I smile back, wondering where to start.
As if he reads my mind, he says, “You can start with if you have siblings and your parents.”
I eye him curiously. “I have one sister, but I don’t lay claim to her at all. We had a falling out years ago, and since then, I haven’t spoken to her.”
“Oh, okay. What happened?”
“She has always hated me. Growing up, we were never close. She wasn’t close to my parents either, but when they divorced, she chose to live with my dad, and I lived with my mom. She fell hard into drugs in her teens and just spiraled from there. She’s never met my son and didn’t even come around when I was sick.”
“That’s terrible. She sounds like a lost soul.”
“Absolutely. I think she was born with a dark, dark soul. I cannot describe her. She emanates darkness. When I’m around her, I feel drained, as though she’s sucking the very life force from me. We shouldn’t talk.”
“And your other parents aren’t close to her?”
“She was closer to my dad. When they divorced, I lived with my mom and stepdad. She moved to Kansas with my dad fifteen years ago or so. But even he has lost touch with her since she has gotten addicted to meth.”
The waitress returns with our drinks.
“Did you need a few more minutes before you order dinner?” the waitress inquires.
“Yes, please,” Dominic answers. “I haven’t even looked. I will, though, promise.” His hazel eyes glance up at her and smile, and she blushes at the gesture. “No problem, take your time,” she says, then saunters off.
“Meth? That’s some pretty bad stuff, yeah?”
“Oh my gods, yes. It does bad things to good people. Can you imagine what it does to bad people? She’s the darkest dark there ever was.”
Why am I telling him all this? The words are pouring from me with no second thought.
“That’s too bad,” Dominic says, picking up his menu and perusing the items on it.
I follow suit. “So, what about you? Any siblings?”
“A few,” he says, his lips quirking up as he laughs, and it lets the sweetest dimple on his left side go free. His eyes are still looking through the menu. “I have three sisters and two brothers.”
“Wow, you have lots of siblings. That must be nice. I always wanted more siblings. Or at least one I was close with.”
“Yeah, they’re great. I’m pretty close with all of them except one.”
“Which one?”
“One of my brothers. He’s kind of like your sister minus the drugs. We were close growing up, but he has gone off the deep end the last few years. Just a lost cause and I haven’t spoken with him in decades.”
“Decades? Aren’t you like thirty?”
“Oh,” he says, shaking his head like he’s said something he didn’t mean. “Yeah, I mean . . . I mean, it has felt like decades.”
“I feel that,” I say.
His face seems to relax.
“It feels like decades since I’ve spoken to her, too. But you’re close with the others? ”
“Yeah, for the most part. They all live in New York, so I don’t get to see them as much. If I had to pick one I’m close with, it would be Scarlet. We’re twins, so she and I have that whole twin psychic connection.”
“I just love that name, Scarlet. So pretty.” I figure out what I want to eat and set my menu down.
“She’s just as pretty as her name, too. Broke many hearts in her day.”
“I bet you have tons of nieces and nephews then?”
“No, actually, I don’t,” he says, setting the menu down as the waitress approaches.
“Did I give you enough time?” she asks.
“I think so,” he says, looking at me for agreement.
“Yes. I’ll have the surf and turf, please. Medium for the steak.”
“Okay,” says the waitress as she jots down my order. “And for you?”
“I’ll take the same, please, but make my steak rare. Thanks,” he says, handing her the menus.
“Be right up,” the waitress responds with a flirtatious smile and grabs his menu.
“Rare, huh?” I query.
“Yes. I don’t like it when it’s chewy. Rare just melts in the mouth.” He smiles.
“So,” I continue, “none of your siblings have children?”
“No, Scar and I are the second oldest. My oldest brother has never married nor has any children. And my younger siblings haven’t yet, either. I think they all want some one day, but so far nothing.”
“Interesting. And you’re how old?”
“I’m thirty-six. My oldest brother is thirty-nine, and the younger siblings are thirty-two, twenty-nine, and twenty-five. So, still young. Plenty of time to find someone and settle down. How old are you?”
“Same age as you,” I reply, sipping my daiquiri.
“And you have been married once?”
“Yes. We were married for about four years, together for eight.”
“Do you guys get along okay?”
“We’re better now. It got better once the dust settled. I didn’t like the woman he was with first after me at all. The one he’s married to now, however, I like.”
“You’ve been divorced for how long?”
“About three years now.”
“So, he’s married and had a girlfriend before that, all in the span of three years?”
“Well, the first one overlapped a bit. But that’s neither here nor there. Tell me about this ‘almost married’ thing.” I smirk, remembering his comment about almost being married at the bar last night.
“Ah, that. It’s a somewhat complicated story. It concerns why I don’t speak to my oldest brother.”
I eye him imploringly, willing him to go on without me having to pry. He seems hesitant to talk of this brother that he doesn’t speak to.
“I was with a girl,” he goes on hesitantly. “Very much in love and would’ve gone to the ends of the Earth for her. Everything was as it should be, and I asked her to marry me. Had the ring and everything. Then he appeared out of the blue and fell for her, too. She, in turn, fell for him, and they ran away together.”
My heart feels a pang of guilt for him. I shouldn’t have brought it up. It still seems very raw.
An awkward silence hangs between us, and I don’t know whether to go on with the topic or change the subject.
“Did they end up marrying?” I say, finally.
“No,” he says, playing with a frayed string on the linen napkin. “She died.”
“Oh my gods. How?”
“Let’s just say it was mysterious circumstances, and they never concluded how she was killed.”
“Killed? Do you know who did it?”
When he looks at me, I see the pain in the depth of those hazel eyes. There seems to be a darkness that befalls him, and something sinister, giving me the chills that are not from the drafty restaurant.
The waitress appears with dinner.She sets the plates down gently, first in front of Dominic and then me.“Anything else I can get you at the moment? ”
“Sayah?” he asks me, as the waitress is paying no mind to me.
“I’m okay, thanks.”
“I think we’re good, love, thank you.” He gives her a courteous smile. “Looks delicious,” he says, picking up the A1 and unscrewing the lid.
I can sense he doesn’t want to talk anymore about the mysterious death of the girl he once loved.
Deciding to brush past it, I say, “And your parents? Are they still married?”
“They are. They’ve been together for eons, it seems. Still happy and all that, too.”
“Wow. That’s so unheard of these days.”
“How’s the steak?” he asks, pointing at mine with his knife.
“It’s delicious. How’s yours?”
“Wonderful,” he says, forking some lobster. “Well, now that you heard a bit of my darkness, can I bring up a bit of yours?”
“Yeah, that’s okay,” I reply tenderly, chewing on a bite of lobster. “Which dark are you referring to?”
“Cancer.”
“Ah, that. It’s a bit of a long, sad story.”
“I’ve got time,” he says, smiling.
I can’t get over how easy it is to talk to him. I go on to explain everything—the chemo, the awful bone marrow biopsies, blood transfusions that took all day that Mama would accompany me to, the spinal taps, being hospitalized three times—all of it.
“Where was the ex?” Dominic asks.
“He had to work. Or he was home with Gauge. He only came to the bone marrow biopsies because those were my worst fear.”
“He should have been there for you for all of it,” Dominic retorts, his voice drawing a bit of anger behind it. “I would have been.”
“That’s so sweet of you to say. It was hard, though. We had to keep the roof over our heads since I couldn’t work. And Gauge couldn’t come with me to much of it, so he would have to stay with him.”
“I would have found a way. That’s all I’m saying. ”
“It was okay. I had my mom,” I say, and the sting in the memory bites at me more than I like at this dinner.
“I’m glad you had your mama,” he says, plucking the word from my mind.
“Me too,” I reply, cutting a bite of the steak, putting it in my mouth, and chewing slowly.
“I’m sorry for bringing that up. When you mentioned you had cancer last night, I was curious about it. I knew it would dredge up hard memories for you. I am sorry.”
“Don’t be. I don’t mind talking about my mom. Or my cancer.”
“Did you lose your hair?”
“Yep. Full-on baldie. But I rocked that shit.” I laugh at the memory.
“I bet you did,” he responds, smiling back. “So much pain you carry.”
“I’m so sorry I have been going on and on; you are probably bored to death.”
“On the contrary, I think you are one of the most fascinating women I have ever been to dinner with,” he replies with a reflective smile.
My heart flutters again at this.
The sensation lingers like a dream hanging on the edge of my consciousness, ready to dissipate with waking. This handsome man leans in, his genuine interest in me evident as he savors every word of my story.
“Well, thank you.”
“You have been through some unimaginable pain, and yet you have this aura about you—you’re stunningly beautiful and able to shine through it all. You don’t have this poor-me attitude; you have a let-me-tell-you-how-my-story-makes-me-stronger vibe. I dig it. Very much.”
“I’m so glad you think so. Sometimes I feel as if I’m not strong at all.”
“Sometimes strength isn’t always depicted in muscles, steely words, and inerrant resolves. Sometimes it shows itself within the softer corners of you—the way you weaken with other people’s pain or sit and laugh with the beautifully broken. The way you show up each time the world knocks you down or by the way you feel so deeply for people who you hurt when they do. That is strength. You’re one of the strongest people I know, Sayah. And I have known a lot of people.”
I offer him the sweetest smile I can muster.
“I’m so glad you decided to come out with me,” he utters, his eyes blazing like torches in a medieval castle. “I’m having a great time.”
“Me too.”
“So,”—he grins, taking a sip of his bourbon—“what do you like to do for fun?”
T he rest of the dinner is spent laughing about lighter topics, balancing out the dark that had taken over the first half of our date.
We talked of Gauge’s first word being shit and how he said “gonkies” and “warsies” instead of monkeys and horsies. He told me anecdotes about growing up with so many siblings and the pranks they all used to play on each other. We laughed more in the second half of the date than we did all evening.
Outside, after dinner, the sky is midnight purple with bright stars scattered across the heavens. The moon shines like a broken ornament in the sky, casting a silver luster over the world. Christmas lights hang in all the trees, making the square feel magical.
“Wanna walk with me?” he asks as we climb the stairs from the basement restaurant.
“Sure,” I answer, taking his hand as he leads me toward the square.
“It’s pretty here,” he says, his eyes alight with the city’s beauty.
“It is. I love how they leave the Christmas lights up til spring. It just makes it magickal.”
“Fitting for a magickal being such as yourself. ”
Again, my heart flutters. The rhythmic sound of his voice is alluring to me, and even though it’s an American accent, the way he makes it sound is sexy. Every syllable he uses seems to draw me into him, enticing me into this force field that emanates around him.
As we walk, I take in the magical allure of the city and just enjoy holding hands with another human again. The place where he touches my hand is warm and has a slight buzzing, but I’m not sure if that’s from it being a little chilly outside and my hands cold.
We stop in the square and watch the band playing some jazzy little tune, the people dancing and smiling, and the city’s ambiance decorates us entirely.
He turns to face me. “I want to see you again,” he whispers softly, his face edging closer to me with every breath.
I usually don’t kiss men on first dates, but he would be an exception.
“I want to see you again, too.”
“And again, after that. And again, after that. And again.” He is pulling me closer to him, his fingers interlacing with mine. He pulls my palm up to his lips and kisses it, not letting go of our eye contact.
The beat of my heart is racing, and these magical little butterflies are surfacing to gather around my throat. I’m scared to kiss him because first kisses are usually awkward, but I try not to overthink it too much.
He’s just about to my lips when his head cocks sideways as though he hears someone say his name in the distance.
“What is . . .”
“Hold on,” he mutters, listening for whatever he’d heard.
Suddenly, his eyes are on mine, and a feeling of dread spreads over me, then it’s gone.
Minutes later, and I don’t know when we got here because I don’t remember walking this far, we’re sitting on a bench in a small park on the outskirts of the square. It’s like waking up from a dream where you’re trying to grasp at the fading memory of it, but that only makes it disappear faster.
Dominic is next to me on the bench. “Are you all right?” he asks, his dark brows knitted together in a combination of concern and guilt.
“Uh,” I mumble, looking around. “I don’t know how we got here,” I tell him honestly.
I didn’t drink any alcohol.
“You fainted. I carried you here. Are you sure you’re all right?”
Panic sets my limbs on fire at the word faint.
The fear that the leukemia will come back is a constant dread that lingers in the back of my mind. I felt fine the entire night, so the fact that I fainted is worrisome.
“Hey,” he whispers, turning my chin to look at him. “You’re okay. You must have just eaten something that didn’t agree with you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m always worried about the cancer coming back. What if it was a symptom of that?”
“Oh, darling, don’t you worry about that. I’m sure you’re just fine.”
Looking into his eyes, I believe him. Something strange in his hazel irises seeps into me, comforting me, making the worry melt away. At the same time, it’s edged with being tangled like an uneasy comfort. There’s still a bit of dizziness, not understanding why I shouldn’t be worried, but I’m not anymore. Now I’m just tired, and there’s a haze around my consciousness as if I had drunk twelve tequila shots, although I hadn’t.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.”
W hen we return to my house, I let him open my car door and take his hand as he offers it.
He walks me to the stoop, where we stop in the pale light of the porch.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he says softly, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me to him .
Still foggy from the night’s end, I let him and put my arms around his neck. “I did, too. Thank you for dinner.”
“You are most welcome.”
His face inches toward mine, and my heart thunders in my chest. I lick my lips right before he reaches them.
It is the sweetest, most subtle kiss that I have ever felt. Like ice on a summer’s day, I melt into his arms. At first, he lightly brushes my lips with his. And then, he parts them, inviting me to taste his mouth. I do, and as I lick his tongue with mine, my blood rushes thick to the very surface of me, and I teeter on some edge I didn’t know existed until this moment.
His breathing becomes heavier, and he pulls away just when I think I’ll burst from emotions. His brows are pinched together like it pained him to kiss me, and his eyes have taken an almost white hue. He turns his head from me, hiding his face, and I’m embarrassed and confused.
Does my breath stink?
“I’m sorry,” he utters, his head still turned from me. “I just . . .”
“No. It’s okay. I understand,” I say, beginning to leave him and go inside.
“No, wait,” he states, grabbing my hand. When I turn back around, his eyes are back to normal. “I’m sorry, it’s just…. I’m finding resisting you harder than I thought it would be.”
“To resist me?” I question. The fogginess from the night returns, and I feel like I’m lost in a dark field, trying to find my way back home.
“You’re incredibly sexy. You’re smart, intriguing, strong . . . enchanting. Honestly, you’re everything I’ve been looking for in a woman for a long time. My adrenaline got the best of me, and I felt that if I didn’t stop kissing you now, I’m likely to tear your clothes off of you and take you here on this porch.”
It’s a very alluring thought.
“And,” he expands, “I know that I won't be your first of anything, but you're the kind of person I'd want to be my last of everything.”
The words hang in the air and pierce every inch of me. I know that I find him attractive, and there’s something about him that calls to me, that draws me in and makes me want to stay, but I don’t know if he’s the one .
“I see,” I reply, the words lost on me like rain in a waterfall.
“ And I’ve said too much,” he answers, hanging his head in embarrassment, stepping down from the porch.
“No, wait,” I say, taking my turn to pull him back. “I’m sorry. You just caught me off guard with that. It’s our first date, and I didn’t know how to respond.”
“I know,” he says, his eyes searching my face. “Look, I was trying to say that I like you. I don’t want to mess this up by going too fast. I want to keep seeing you, see where it goes, and let nature take its course.”
“Me too.”
The panicky feeling begins to ebb, and I feel a bit better.
“So,” he answers, stepping up to join me again on the porch. “I am going to kiss you goodnight and leave. And I want you to think of where you would like to go for our second date on the next night you are free.”
“Okay,” I say, the word tasting ashen in my mouth.
His lips meet mine again; this time, it’s swift and sweet.
“Goodnight,” he says when he lets my lips go.
“Goodnight, Dominic.”
He punctuates his smile with a soft wink, turns on his heel, and heads down the sidewalk path.